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“Gemma Davies put a status up last night. Said you were all over her apparently, snogging her face off, then fucked her by Al’s chip shop and went back to hers for afters.”

“Facebook’s full of fucking bollocks.”

“So, you didn’t shag her?”

“Weren’t by Al’s, and I didn’t go back to hers, neither.”

She looked over the wall, over towards tower one. “Didn’t think she was your type.”

“And what’s that, Vick?”

She shrugged. “Didn’t think you even liked blondes.”

“She was there, that’s all.” I got up, stepped out into the cold air. I took a deep breath, chasing off the sleep. Casey took a piss by the gate, then gambolled around the place, tail wagging. “Better take her out, wants a run.”

“Coming back?”

“Later,” I said. Only today I wasn’t so sure.

“That Lozza looks a bit like that Harding woman, don’t ya think?”

I felt my heart leap. I shrugged. “Hadn’t noticed.”

“You seeing her again?”

“Lozza? No.”

“Good. She’s a stuck up cow anyway, don’t like her.”

I opened the gate, smiling as Casey took off like a bullet. She waited at the end of the road, down on her front legs, tail going. “Gotta go, Vick. Thanks for the toast.”

“Don’t be late back, yeah? Can watch TV or summat.”

She best not hold her breath.

***

Sophie

“Are you listening to me?”

I put down my fork, turning my attention to Dad. He was bleating on again, and no, I hadn’t been listening. Roast dinner was surely never worth all this shit, and yet here I was, every bloody Sunday.

“Three months, I get it,” I sighed. “But I’ve got initiatives running, a new estate to manage, I can’t just up and leave. I guess the Hardings’ grand entrance into the glittering world of showbiz will just have to scrape by without me.”

“It’s notshow business,” he snapped. “It’s theatre, and art, andculture. But of course yourinitiativesfor the drug addicts and reprobates far outweigh anything we have to offer.”

“I like my job.”

“Leave it for now, George,” Mum said. “Not at the table.”

The beautiful soundtrack of cutlery. I stared out at my parents’ garden. You’d never believe this place was in London, not from the grounds. Money can buy just about anything, except decent family communication it seems.

“We don’t need you, anyway,” Alexandra chimed in. “The Southbank development is my baby now. Hang with the druggies all you like, I’ll be hobnobbing with class.Artists, you know... and critics, and art dealers, and people fromCulturemagazine. You can come along to opening night and weep with jealousy.”

Like that would ever happen. I’ve never been jealous of Alexandra once in my entire existence, despite her being the princess in the tower.

“Not the point,” Dad barked. “We’re a family business.Family. We shouldallbe onboard.”

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